For my eleventh birthday, my parents let me have a special
bunking party at the lake. I still remember opening birthday presents on the
old brown couch surrounded by my giggling friends. Katie gave me a journal with
a black and white kitten on the front. Heavily influenced at that point (and
today) by reading Anne Frank’s diary, I aptly began writing to Kitty amongst
the lined pages of this special birthday gift.
Years later, as an assignment to all first-year students
joining the class of 1998 at Rhodes College, I read Schindler’s List, another powerful account from the Holocaust. We
were challenged to write a paper in response to the text and present it to our
new advisors and fellow students in an open dialogue during orientation week.
The experience connected my heart and my writing in a new and profound way.
This year, as I challenged myself to read the texts we ask
our students to comprehend at Lausanne Collegiate School, I read The Book Thief, a captivatingly written
tale of Germans disagreeing with Hitler’s treatment of Jews but unsure of how
to take a stand while protecting their families. I was quite taken with this
author’s ability to write in a style I had never experienced and how he
accomplished such depth of character, story and statement.
That being said, I draw you to a life changing moment of
mine that occurred in 5th grade. I can still remember the yellow classroom and
the early morning sunlight streaming through the east windows. The electric lights
hadn’t been turned on yet. Mommy and I had left church early to set up for the
Sunday school lesson. I gather that it was the first Sunday lesson of the new
school year. I was feeling particularly delighted and special that I had had
the opportunity to leave early to help her set up. She was putting worksheets
out on the table, and she suddenly stopped and addressed me. “Laura,” she said,
“I need you to help me today.” I was all ears and ready for my assignment, but
I was surprised when she said, “There will be a young girl joining our class today
that may appear to be different than you or the rest of the children. I want
you to make sure that regardless of differences that you are always especially
kind and welcoming. She is 100% a part of this class. Please assist me in
giving her a warm welcome and including her in class participation.”
I remember being somewhat surprised by this conversation and
unsure, but do remember feeling empowered by my mother’s words. However awkward
I appeared, I did as my mother asked. I was kind. I welcomed. I loved.
My mother will tell you she is “not sweet,” but I will tell
you she is loving. Even in the early loss of her mother, she recognized that
life is worth living and appreciating (I think her mother taught her that). She
loves music, she loves nature and beauty, especially expressed through art,
music and the flit of wings she captures in her yard and on the shore.
She made an early decision to put her children and her
husband above all else and spent the majority of her adulthood driving children
from place to place and arranging family dinner dates with Daddy while he kept a
hectic schedule at the hospital.
That Sunday morning, my mom was suddenly more than
breakfast, carpools and bathtimes, which as with most children, I took for
granted. On that Sunday morning, I recognized that there was something
extraordinary about my mother’s heart and mind that I needed to be paying
attention to more than ever before.
It’s really something when you recognize
someone’s depth.
This life lesson of notice and welcome has guided me every moment
since. Although our constitution so eloquently states that all are created
equal (with amendment), all are not ultimately treated equally, nationally and
internationally. The lessons I’ve learned through the Holocaust and my mother
are that regardless of differences, we have the opportunity, the choice, to
treat each human being we encounter with respect and with love.
My mother may not think of herself as sweet, but she is
kind, and she will go the distance. This life lesson she has bestowed upon me
guides my life. I will be forever grateful that she opened my eyes to this kind
of grace and goodness.
With love for my mother,
LT
